


Pumping Blood

by rosepetalrichie



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: AKA Stan likes two boys and it's honestly the end of the world, But doubled, Comfort, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, It gets upsetting bois, M/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic Stozier, Sometimes funny (or at least I tried), Stan's mental health starts to decline, alcohol fixes everything (not really), alcohol use, also this is my first series so bear with me, angsty as hell, because if there isn't drunk shenanigans, disaster gays all around, eddie is a stressed little boy, i didn't write it, i promise it won't be sad/angsty all of the time, lana is a god, stanley uris loves his friends so much, there will be lighthearted bits, they're best friends bitches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-07 23:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15230586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetalrichie/pseuds/rosepetalrichie
Summary: Stanley Uris is stumbling back and forth between two boys - he finds that a cut flower in a vase does not have the strength of a weed with its roots.





	1. 1 - Heart On The Road Again

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo. Here's my first larger fic!
> 
> I've been wanting to write a series for a while now, but was worried about doing something that had already been done. I decided to go for some good ol' conflict in the love life department, because Stan does not know how to understand his emotions.
> 
> I'm also participating in Camp NaNoWriMo this month! My goal is 15k by the end of July, and I decided I would work on this for my project.
> 
> The title & chapter names are from "Pumpin Blood" by Nonono; listening to it gave me that sort of nostalgic, want-to-go-stargazing type vibe and it gave me a lot of inspiration for future chapters, so you'll have to stick around to see what that's all about hehe
> 
> Thanks to Lana (stanheartsbill on Tumblr) who, although made me realize just how much people critiquing my work scares me, gave me some really damn good pointers, and I'm a lot happier with the edited writing than I am with the original. Ily bby
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr (@rosepetalrichie) if you'd like to see my other content!
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the chapter lmao.

Stan could've filled the bathtub with all of the thoughts in his head if he wanted to. 

Thoughts of everything that was happening. Not just recent things, but things that had left everyone else's minds already, yet not Stan's. Things that had pounded in his ears late at night, things that he was scared to let out even though doing such would've relieved all of the tension it was building up. It all felt worse than any migraine he ever had to endure because no one around him shared these thoughts, no one really understood completely, and this couldn't be fixed with medication.

Though he was on antidepressants. They wiggled themselves into Stan's routine last month after Eddie had told him that it could help Stan if he went to a psychiatrist, got an official diagnosis, and sought going on some sort of pill to try to ease things. Stan was against it at first, because he didn't need a doctor to tell him there was something wrong medically - he could figure that out on his own, and everyone around him could verify - and the medication just seemed like an odd idea. He knew that Eddie was on something to help with his anxiety and that it was a good choice for him, but Stan thought: what if it didn't work for himself? Then the trip to the doctor's would've been useless, he would have to go through the bad side effects before he knew, and he would feel even less motivated to try to get better than he’d already been previously. He would go back down into his slump and feel even more hopeless.

But Stan had gone anyway, and after numerous evaluations and talks and filling out papers, he was given a little orange bottle of what he prayed would fix his life. He knew it wouldn't be some miracle and that he wouldn't be cured completely and/or instantly, but he just wanted to feel somewhat better, at the very least.

He swished the water around him a little bit and listened to the sounds it made when it hit the sides of the tub. It was quiet in the apartment, and it felt eerie in a way, but it calmed Stan down and wasn't as unsettling to him as it was to other people. Richie, in particular, _really_ liked having noise. Every time he walked into Richie’s and Eddie's apartment, there was music playing and the TV going and the two were never _not_ talking to each other, and Eddie was always yelling at Richie over something at least every 10 minutes. Though the environment of their place was a bit loud, Stan didn't mind too much, because it was comforting in a weird way. 

Mike was quieter. He wasn't one to yell or raise his voice at most circumstances, being more soft-spoken and calmer with his words and tone. He would usually play music while he worked or studied, though, which Stan had learned from all the times he would visit Mike at the farm or when they would sit outside underneath the apple trees and talk for awhile. Mike just liked to have background music, said it makes things more fun. On one particular day when Stan was visiting to watch the birds at the farm, Mike had played swing music from his phone and made Stan put the binoculars down and dance with him. They had tripped over tree roots and fallen apples multiple times, but the evening was full of laughter and learning how to dance with each other. Even if they were far from good, it was the most fun that Stan had had in a while.

Stan smiled as he thought back on it. It was difficult for him to have a bad time when he was with Mike - Mike was generous, and kind, and understanding. He never pried anything out of Stan, and was always there when he needed a shoulder to cry on or when he needed to vent about whatever was going on. Mike didn't like conflict, but he was always up for helping resolve it when he needed to.

The line between infatuation and actually crushing was very much unclear when it came to Mike. Stan had told himself multiple times that he was allowed to admire someone without turning it into romantic feelings, but he _wanted_ to like Mike - he just wanted to feel settled down with someone instead of clumsily moving about his love life like he was still a middle schooler because he was an adult now and was much more mature than this. And plus Stan wasn’t so hesitant with Mike, wasn’t so nervous, unlike how he was with the other boy who had been plaguing his heart for years now, and it felt like that by this point he was supposed to feel calm with that boy. Is it still normal to get heart flutters and stammer your words at 24 when your crush is the vicinity? Surely not.

Stan was disturbed from his thinking by his phone buzzing on the sink next to him. He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times to simmer down the sudden brightness, and quietly sighed. He would’ve very much liked to stay there for a while longer and tear apart every little problem in his life until he had everything mapped out, but the water in the tub was getting cold anyway, so he pulled the drain plug and slipped on his robe.

He sat on the countertop and read the notification -

 **Beverly:** hey stanny it's friday!!! you know what that means  
**Beverly:** we're going out to a new club tonight and you have to come pleaseee  <333

Stan pursed his lips. Going out clubbing or to a party together wasn't something that was uncommon for the group - they did at least one weekend every month - but Stan wasn't sure if that was how he wanted to spend his evening. He knew they would want him to go but would understand if he didn't. Stan didn't really want to let anyone down, and he felt as though it was about time he had gotten out of the house, as it had been awhile since he'd done something fun like that with the rest of the losers.

Stan texted a quick affirmation reply to Bev, and slid off the counter to go prepare for the night ahead.

* * *

The club scene wasn't something Stan was into. He wasn't someone to dress in clothes that made a bold statement - though he thought the people with enough courage to do so were pretty rad - and he wasn't loud or charismatic or social. He felt a little less anxious because it was a gay nightclub (they wouldn't dare step into any regular club), and that he could be himself, whatever that meant. Maybe it meant just being more comfortable with the people there, or maybe it meant that he could snog some dude in the bathroom and it wouldn't be _too_ big of a deal.

And the losers always brought out the party animal in Stan anyway. They were fully aware of how much he liked to dance after a round of shots, laughing with everyone while they bounced together in their little circle with Eddie and Bev singing along because for some reason they knew the words to almost every song that was played. Ben often did know the words as well, but he took a little more convincing to go full karaoke like the others did.

Stan listened to Eddie humming as they sat at the table the group snagged. They had separated themselves from the others because Stan's shoes were killing him and he needed to sit down, and Eddie decided he'd go with him so Stan wasn't alone (pulling Eddie from Richie leeching onto his neck took a little effort, though).

Eddie turned back to Stan from previously looking around idly, and he met Stan's gaze with a small smile.

"Are you having fun?" He asked Stan, raising his voice to be heard over the music.

Stan returned a smile and a nod but didn't say anything.

"See any cute guys yet?" Eddie's tone turned playful.

"I guess," Stan replied, looking down and stirring around the ice in his glass with the straw.

Eddie's grin grew and he giggled. "Really?"

"I said I guess."

Eddie started to turn his head to look at the people that he could see. "Who? What does he look like?"

Stan rolled his eyes, though his smile was still apparent. "I don't know why you guys are so obsessed with my love life. You don't do this with Mike or Bill as often as you do it with me." He took another sip of his drink.

Eddie looked back to Stan with a frown. "Okay, first of all, we _do_ ask Mike and Bill about their love lives all the time, it's not just you. I mean, less with Bill because I don't really wanna hear about his useless one-night stands, and I've sort of lost hope in him beginning any sort of actual relationship any time soon."

That left a bit of a sick feeling in Stan's stomach.

"Second of all, it's because I care about you." Eddie's expression turned more sympathetic. "I know you're a hopeless romantic deep down and you want to be able to... express that. I get it. I just think you should at least try and put yourself out there."

Stan shrugged. Eddie was very much correct. "It’s not that I’m lonely. I have you guys to hang out with," he said.

"I didn't say you were lonely. And I know we're pretty amazing friends," Eddie joked, "but like I said, you haven't even tried to get into the dating world."

"That's not true," Stan defended.

Eddie blankly stared at him.

"It's been a while, but I promise I've attempted."

"Were you sober?"

Stan gave him a disapproving look.

Eddie put his hands up. "I was just asking!"

Stan sighed and finished off the last of what was in his glass, thinking about the irony of doing such. Stan wasn't an alcoholic and it wasn't a huge issue for him, but it was just easier to be yourself and take risks when you had alcohol in your system. It gave him more courage.

"I don't know, Eddie," Stan started, looking back down to the table and locking his fingers together. "I mean, there is this one guy-"

"Who?"

Stan laughed. "Let me finish." He ignored the pout Eddie gave him. "There is a guy I _might_ like, but I just don't know if I'm ready for something like that - a relationship, I mean. I'm worried it'll stress me out."

"Well, a relationship should do the opposite," Eddie replied, placing his chin on his palm. "If you're that worried, I would get to know the guy a bit more, y'know? Learn how he deals with his own stress. That way you'll know if he'll be someone good to have around when you're stressed yourself."

This situation was making Stan far more stressed than it was calming him.

Stan thought about it for a moment, and then just nodded with a smile. "I really appreciate the advice, but you still don't need to interrogate me about my love life every time we hang out." He lightly chuckled.

Eddie grinned and leaned over the table to ruffle Stan's hair. "You can't blame me for being curious, Stanley! I care about you and I wanna know when you get a boyfriend." Stan ducked out from underneath Eddie's hand.

"You're gonna mess up my hair," he explained, giggling at Eddie's eye roll. Stan sat up straight again and took a look at the people around him.

He met Bill's eyes. Bill was leaned against the bar, and was clearly in the middle of having a conversation with the girl who stood in front of him because Stan saw her mouth continue to move even though Bill had averted his gaze. Stan felt like he should wave or look away or do something other than hold onto the increasingly awkward eye contact, but Bill only continued to look at Stan over the rim of his glass as he took a drink. Stan knew that look all too well, from his days of desperately trying to find hookups at bars when pulling one out every night was becoming unsatisfactory, but at that moment it just made him uneasy.

It wasn't until Bev had walked up to Bill and grabbed his shoulder that Bill looked away, and Stan immediately snapped his head back to in front him, once again staring at the table. The encounter was probably no more than 10 seconds, but it had felt like at least a minute.

"I saw that whole thing," Eddie spoke up.

Stan pressed his hands to his flushed cheeks. "Yeah, yeah I know," he murmured.

"That was quite a look he gave you." The joking tone was evident in Eddie's voice, but Stan didn't think it was that amusing.

Stan dismissed Eddie's sentence and looked back to the bar. Bill was gone, and Stan's eyes lingered over the spot where he had previously stood. Bill had been looking at him first, so it's not like Stan was at fault or anything. But Stan was the one who kept looking, not doing anything but freezing up and starting to hear the gears in his head spin way too quickly once he started to overthink.

Stan and Bill's relationship was blurry - had been for a couple years. They were best friends, of course, they hung out with each other but it was almost never just the two of them. Stan knew that the other losers were aware of this sort of tension between the two, but Stan pretended that they didn't because it was just _awkward_ and he didn't even know what he and Bill had going on, if it was romantic feelings or if Bill just wanted in his pants or if Stan wanted in Bill’s pants or there was some petty grudge in the mix that Stan didn't know about; and of course Stan was too afraid to confront Bill and ask him about it, too afraid to disturb the calm-ish waters, because if Stan asked and Bill denied having any sort of feelings, then things would get weird and their friendship would get thrown off. They acted like normal friends in the group setting, joking back and forth and carrying out regular conversations, so it wasn't interfering with the group's friendship. It was just that there was something else that lurked underneath and it was so clear to everyone, though none of them had ever really asked about it other than Eddie commenting on the weird eye contact; the whole thing was usually just kicked under the rug.

But it was hard for Stan to ignore it. He felt it every time there was a pause in the conversation and he would look over to Bill and there he would be, staring again, and, god, Stan wanted to punch him sometimes. Wanted to grab Bill by the shoulders and shake him and demand he tell Stan what the fuck his intentions were so Stan could stop having to overthink everything.

"I need another drink," Stan blurted, standing up from his chair, and running his hands down the front of his pants while he idly looked around again. He was starting to get a little antsy and needed something to distract him.

Eddie stood next to him and linked his arm with Stan's, and Stan wasn't that big on being affectionate with his friends but he greatly appreciated how comforting it felt at that moment. "We should round up the others and get some shots," Eddie said, walking Stan back towards to the dance floor to try and find those that they could.

Richie, Mike, and Ben were all dancing together, but Bev and Bill weren't with them. Bev and Bill were pretty close even after their relationship in high school had ended a bit roughly - things hadn’t gotten toxic, but the two of them had too fiery and passionate of personalities to find a happy middle when it came to making decisions. They were great with teamwork, but not when it came to relationship matters, so they decided to stick as friends instead.

Stan and Eddie made their way to where the three of them stood, Eddie immediately pulling himself from Stan and attaching himself to Richie instead, grinning and pressing his hands to Richie's cheeks.

"Are you already drunk?" Eddie giggled.

Richie nodded in response, his expression mirroring Eddie's. "A little bit, yeah," he shouted back, moving in to kiss Eddie's cheek, then pulling him into his chest and swaying around with him.

"We were gonna get some shots, we figured you guys would want in." Eddie tilted his head up so that Richie could hear better, but had to repeat his sentence because Richie wasn't listening the first time, and then again when Richie yelled "what?", and finally, Eddie just leaned up to his ear and went "SHOTS, DUMBASS!"

"You gotta speak up for me, Eds!" Richie looped his arms around Eddie's waist and lifted him a bit, pressing his lips all over Eddie's face. "I'm getting a little deaf!"

"I can tell," Eddie grumbled, though still smiling, wiggling in Richie's grasp before he was put back down. They both looked over to the others, who were awkwardly smiling and chuckling themselves.

Richie raised an eyebrow. "Hey, let’s not be creeps, huh?" Another snicker came from Eddie.

"You do this sort of stuff every time you two are together, so it's a little unavoidable," Ben replied.

Richie only scoffed, grabbing onto Eddie's hand. "Well let's stop the ogling and go get some fucking drinks, huh?" He grinned and tugged Eddie along with him, the rest of them following behind.

* * *

The group was sat along the bar, various glasses and cocktails sat on the surface in front of them. Bill and Bev had found their way back a while ago, and Stan had purposely sat in the middle so that Bill couldn't sit next to him and make him feel any more awkward than he already felt, and luckily Bill had sat next to Richie who was sure to keep him occupied and away from Stan. Currently, Richie was standing behind the stools and acting out some story from when he was at the grocery store, and the losers (as well as the other people in the stools next to them) were turned around and laughing at the way Richie dramatized such a simple scenario.

Stan thought it was quite humorous, but it was hard to focus due to the pounding feeling in his head and the way his stomach was starting to churn. He rubbed at his eyes before clumsily sliding off the stool and grabbing the first shoulder he could find, which happened to be Eddie’s.

“Eddie. I really need to pee,” he stated, not bothering to wait for Eddie to say something back before he stumbled away. Stan didn't even know where the bathroom was, and spent a good amount of time randomly circling the room and getting frustrated when he hadn’t found any signs of a bathroom after searching for what felt like at least 20 minutes but couldn’t have been any longer than maybe five. He just wanted to fucking _piss_ and take a break from everything and he was on the verge of tears because he felt stupid for not being able to navigate himself and now all he wanted to do was lay on the floor and cry a little bit.

Fortunately, he managed to locate the door after what seemed like forever (at first he was pushing at the women's bathroom door until someone physically directed him to the correct one) and immediately Stan went and locked himself in one of the stalls. He didn’t even know why he felt so upset - everything had just decided to hit him all at once and he didn’t even know what set it off, and then he felt the lump in his throat and the tingling in his nose and the pressure in his chest and everything came out in a few quiet sobs. He didn't want anyone to hear him, and yet at the same time, Stan wanted nothing more than for one of the losers to come in and carry his pathetic ass out of the bathroom and take him home.

He sent out a thank you to whatever holy entity was out there watching him when he heard a "St-Stanley?" and underneath the door saw those stupid checker print Vans that only Bill would wear (Richie would probably wear them as well, but he was probably a hell of a lot more shitfaced and was most definitely off somewhere with Eddie, too occupied with getting his dick sucked to worry about where Stan had gone).

"Bill?" 

Bill leaned down by the stall, peeking underneath the door and looking at Stan with a smile. "Why are you hiding?" 

Stan blankly looked down at him. "I had to piss." His sentence was slurred and sounded slightly irritated. 

"I'm not seeing a whole lot of pissing going on." 

Stan huffed and pulled himself up, taking a moment to steady himself before opening the door. He shoved himself past Bill and doubled over on the counter, putting his face in his hands and trying to ignore how much his head hurt and how nice it felt to have Bill put his hand on the small of his back. 

"You good?" Bill quietly asked. 

"I feel _really_ shitty. So fucking shitty." 

"What's wrong?" 

... 

"Stan?" 

"I'm gonna throw up." 

Bill put an arm around Stan's waist and guided him back to the stall, crouching next to him and supporting his head so that Stan didn't end up drowning himself in a dirty nightclub toilet, because that would be an awful way to die and Stan was much too dignified of a man for that. 

They waited there for a minute or two, and Stan didn't actually throw up, but Bill thought Stan was gagging for a second when he started to cry again. Bill helped him stand back up and held Stan against him, listening to the quiet sobs that came out of him and petting his hair. 

"Bill I really haven’t even had that much to drink." 

"Can’t relate." 

"I'm really glad you're here." Stan's voice broke at the end of his sentence and he just started to cry harder, tightly gripping onto Bill's shirt and burying his face into his chest. Bill awkwardly smiled at a guy who had glanced at the open stall door and gave them both a questioning look. 

"Are you gonna be okay?" Bill rested his cheek on the top of Stan's head. 

"I don't-" Stan hiccuped. "I don't know." He looked back up to Bill and drew in a breath. "I just..." He exhaled. "You know... you're such a _good_ friend for coming to take care of me." 

Bill chuckled. "Yeah?" 

Stan started to laugh, bringing his hands up and resting them on Bill's jaw. "Yeah." He grinned and just stared at Bill for a moment. His head was so foggy but the one thing that was clear was how attractive and fucking _hot_ Bill looked at that moment, looking down at him with those stupid, absolutely _stupid_ bright blue puppy eyes and Stan saw freckles dancing underneath Bill's eyes that reminded Stan so strongly of their childhood and all he wanted was for Bill to be with him for the rest of the night, so that Stan could relearn all of the little bits of Bill he had always admired, wanted to end this pathetic game they had been playing since high school. 

And then they were kissing. It was sloppy and open-mouthed kissing and they were quietly panting and moaning into each other's mouths, and then Stan was the one pushed back against the wall, Bill's hands were roaming, Stan was tugging him down by his hair in some attempt to just get him _closer,_ and Stan's head was swimming with lust and jumbled, clashing thoughts, and holy shit, he felt like he was going to collapse; collapse because the want for Bill to touch him was _that bad,_ feeling himself start to press his hips against Bill's thigh and not holding back the whine that came from him when he finally got solid contact; felt like he was going to collapse because he could all of a sudden feel the sickness that came with rational thinking - 

Panic kicked in. 

There was a wet mouth on Stan's neck and cold hands were slipping up under his shirt. 

That's not right. Neither of those things should be where they were. 

Not if they were Bill's. Not right now. 

"Bill." 

No response. 

"Bill, hold on a second-" Stan pressed his hands against Bill's shoulders to try and subtly put some distance between them, but Bill fully stepped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

" _What?_ " 

Stan felt his stomach drop. 

"I just- I don't- we can't do this, Bill." 

Bill furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?" 

Stan licked his lips and looked down at his hands, and then around the stall, and back to Bill. He felt like the walls were closing in on him. "Because- we just... we _shouldn't._ " 

_Why not, Stan? Are you afraid of him? Afraid of his commitment issues? Afraid of what Eddie said earlier? Afraid of settling down for something less than you thought you wanted?_

_Do you even like him that much, Stan? Get over your damn self._

Bill stepped back towards Stan. "There's no issue with this. There shouldn't be," he said. "We've got so much _tension_ and you know it damn well. We both knew this would happen at some point." 

"I know, but-" 

"Stan, I like you a lot." Those damn _eyes_ were piercing him. "A-and I know you know that I do. I just don't know why you keep running away from it." 

Stan stared at him and tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat again. How does someone who's got fucking alcohol in them speak so much truth? 

He kind of hated Bill at that moment. And he kind of hated himself. He hated Bill for putting him in this situation, hated himself for allowing it to happen when he had a bad feeling in his gut about this all damn night. 

Stan just shook his head. "No, no this isn't- this isn't _love,_ " He shakily laughed, wringing his hands. "We're both drunk and... and _horny_ and desperate." 

Stan knew that wasn't the truth. He knew Bill felt like this when he was sober. 

But he continued talking and tried to ignore the pissed off look Bill was giving him. "I don't want to do this, Bill," his voice trembled a little bit and he felt like he was going to start crying again; not even really because of the situation he was put in, more so that his feet still hurt and he had a raging headache and just wanted to sit down and take a goddamn break. "And I might just be stupid and I'm making a fool of myself right now and… and it _sucks_ because I just want- just want to _leave_ and get away from this bullshit." 

Bill was silent for a moment, and Stan looked down at the floor. Everything was declining so rapidly. 

"Then why are you staying, Stan?" 

Stan stood frozen. 

"I know you f-feel the same way." 

"...Well I _don't,_ " Stan spat, finding some sudden surge of bravery, and quickly stepped out of the stall. He glanced at himself in the mirror (he looked a little wrecked, to say the least) and stumbled out of the door, adjusting his eyes to the suddenly dimmer lights. He heard Bill's voice behind him but kept walking, trying to get out of there as fast as possible and praying that someone would come and get him, let him escape from what had just happened. 

But the night wasn't done. 

Stan was about halfway to the club exit. Leaving wouldn't really have done him any good anyway, as he had no way to get home, left his jacket with Mike, and probably would've ended up passing out on the sidewalk and left to decompose, though that didn't seem like too bad of an option at the moment. 

Someone grabbed his arm and he snapped around, expecting to see Bill and getting ready to argue, but was pleasantly surprised when it was Ben instead. 

"Oh, thank _god._ " Stan felt instant relief and wrapped his arms around the other. "I am having a rough-ass time, Benny boy. I am very glad you came and got me." 

Ben patted his head. "I'm sorry about that, Stan, but, uh, I kinda need your help right now." 

"Hm?" Stan pulled away, widely smiling. Sweet, helpful, beautiful Ben. 

"Richie got in a fight and Eddie's freaking out." 

Stan's face dropped and he sharply exhaled. "Shit." 

Ben led him back in the direction of the bar, and when they waded through the crowd Stan saw a very frantic Eddie clinging to a very beat up Richie, with Bev hovering over where he sat and checking over the damage. It looked a bit bad - from what Stan could make out, Richie's lip was cracked there was a red-colored beginning of a bruise on his cheek, and he had his glasses in his hands, though one of the arms was broken off. 

"Richie, you're a fucking dumbass," Stan said as they walked over, and Richie looked at him with narrowed eyes. 

"Fuck you, Stan, you weren't even here to see it." His voice was a lot more slurred than it had been previously. 

"Can we please not create any arguments?" Bev looked up from observing Richie's knuckles, giving a disappointed look to both Richie and Stan. "There's no point in being snippy with each other. You're just gonna make things worse." 

Eddie was standing next to Richie's stool, holding onto his arm and worriedly watching as Bev made sure Richie's hands weren't too injured. Stan saw Eddie's shoulders shaking, and it was obvious he was trying to stop himself from crying - Eddie didn't like to bring a whole lot of attention to himself anyway, especially not now, not wanting to distract from Richie's current problem. Stan went over to him regardless and draped an arm over his shoulders. 

"The hell happened here?" 

Stan instantly recognized that voice. 

Bill quickly made his way over, standing behind Bev and eyeing Richie with an expression of both disgust and irritation. "Dude, what did you do?" 

Richie didn't look up, only shrugged. 

"He got in a fight," Bev responded. 

"Yeah, I see that," Bill said, "What the fuck for?" 

Mike stepped forward. "Hey, I think we probably shouldn't worry about things that have already happened and, uh, I don’t know - maybe focus on what we can do to help the current situation." Bev and Eddie gave murmurs of agreement, and Bill didn't say anything more. 

They stood with each other quietly, the loudly playing music and buzz of voices around them highly contrasting the mood of the group. Stan had spaced out a while ago, staring down at the floor, though he was snapped back to his senses when Mike placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"How're you doing?" Mike asked him, and Stan looked over at him with a soft smile. 

"Fine," Stan said. "Just trying to-" 

He was cut off by Eddie letting out a sob. Everyone had turned to look at him, though Richie was the first to jump to action, yanking his hand away from Bev and pulling Eddie from Stan's embrace and into his own arms. Eddie broke down fully as soon as his chest touched Richie's, and his hands flew up to cover his face. 

"You piece of _shit,_ " Eddie spat after he had a chance to catch his breath. He tugged himself away from Richie, prodding a finger into the other's chest. "You, you fucking stupid, drunk idiot mother _fucker-_ " He paused to look up at Richie and his lip quivered. "I wanted to go _home_. I just wanted to leave but you're such a _dumbass_ and-and-and you had to cause some- fucking, fucking _shit-_ " His hand curled into a fist and banged against Richie's chest - not hard, but with enough force to get his point across. He let out a shaky exhale, dropping his hand and turning his head away to wipe at his eyes. Not all of them knew what they were supposed to do, just chose to watch with high amounts of concern, because the only ones who weren't completely drunk were Mike and Ben, and Mike stepped in to grab Eddie from Richie. Mike gave Richie a look that told him that it was probably better if he didn't try to fix things right now, and Richie complied but his face still showed signs of hurt. 

"Where did Bill go?" It was Bev's voice next, and she stood up from her stool to scan over the crowd. 

Stan frowned. The part of him that was still pissed off at Bill for earlier was now even more pissed off that Bill could just leave, considering what was going on and just... _what the fuck_. Stan was going to end up pulling an angry-drunk-Eddie on him next - it was surprising that he hadn't yet. 

"I can go look for him," Mike said, still rubbing at Eddie's back. "I think it's about time we start getting everyone home anyway." 

* * *

Stan sat in the passenger seat of Ben's VW Beetle, hanging his arm out of the open window and refreshing himself with the cold midnight air that hit his face. The Cure played quietly from Ben's radio, residue of the last time Richie had driven Ben's car, not bothering to listen to everyone who protested that they wanted to listen to something else because Richie had a tendency to play the same four songs every time he drove. 

Stan peeked over at the rearview mirror, seeing Eddie and Richie tangled in each other in the backseat. They didn't exchange any words, weren't making out or getting handsy, only wrapped together in each other's arms. Stan had always suspected that the two of them could talk without needing any words - they had that sort of bond, one that was so rare and so hard to come across in couples, and everyone loved their relationship as much as Richie and Eddie loved it themselves. Stan wondered what they were talking about now. 

He wanted a connection like that. 

“Alright, Stan, here’s your stop.” Stan looked over at Ben, staring at him for a moment while his brain processed what the other had said. 

“Oh, yeah. Right. Haha.” Stan fumbled with the door handle and managed to get it open after some struggle, but then he tried to get out- 

“Your seatbelt is still on.” 

Stan sat back down and broke into a fit of giggles, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t get out. I’m trapped.” Ben clicked the buckle for him and Stan heard it, but he made no further attempt to get out again. 

Ben quietly chuckled. “You can- you can get out now.” 

“Don’t wanna.” 

Ben turned his head to look at Eddie and Richie - Eddie was asleep on Richie’s shoulder, and Richie was staring back at Ben blankly. 

“Well,” Ben went back to Stan, patting his shoulder. “You can’t stay in the car all night. I need to get home, and I’ve gotta drop off Richie and Eddie as well-” 

“Richie and Eddie can suck my nuts.” 

“Don’t be fucking _rude,_ Stanley-” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” Ben interrupted Richie, reaching behind the seat to put a hand on his knee, and tried to conceal his own laughter. “Let’s not do this right now, please.” 

Stan just crossed his arms and sunk into the seat, looking out the still-open door and proceeding to sulk while Richie glared at him. 

Ben sighed, looking between the both of them. “Stan, do you want me to walk you up?” 

Stan nodded. 

“Okay,” Ben undid his own seatbelt and got out the car, pulling Stan out of the seat by his hands and digging in his pocket for his keys. Stan used the pause to turn back to the car and press his middle finger to the back window, and Richie mirrored the action. Ben pulled Stan away from the car before they could do anything else and locked the doors as they walked off. 

Stan had to be practically carried up the stairs with Ben having an arm tightly around his waist and lifting him up one stair at a time and Stan mumbling various words of encouragement that were barely coherent but which Ben somewhat appreciated anyway. Fortunately, no one was sent tumbling back down the stairs and Ben dropped Stan off at the landing, letting Stan hug him for an uncomfortable few minutes until Ben peeled the other off of his torso, said goodnight, and left. Stan watched from the top of the stairs as the car drove away and then turned to go inside, but the door didn't budge. 

Stan furrowed his eyebrows. He jiggled the handle around a few more times before he eyed his surroundings - surely someone was fucking with him. He stared at the door for a few more moments before he decided that kicking it would be a good solution, but of course it was not, for all he got from it was a stubbed toe and getting so angry at the damn door that he kicked it again out of frustration. Fuck you, door. Let him in. 

There were a few more seconds that passed before Stan figured that maybe he could call for help, maybe ask Ben if he can come back and open the door for him because obviously Stan couldn’t do it himself, and Ben had helped Stan so much tonight that it couldn’t be too big of a deal if he did one more favor for him. Stan reached down into his pocket for his phone, was about to chuck himself over the railing when he found that the pocket was empty, until he dug in the other pocket and luckily found his phone in that one, as well as his… keys. _Ohhhh. Oh, okay. Alright._

The door was finally opened, and Stan appreciated how warm it was inside compared to the breezy autumn air outdoors. He kicked off his shoes, and intended to fall asleep in his bed, but didn’t even make it to at least the couch before he collapsed down to the carpet, face flat, letting his body rest at last. He had stood for so long today, and he wiggled his toes, feeling grateful that they weren’t confined to those god awful uncomfortable shoes anymore. His head still hurt, he was probably going to have blisters in the morning, and he was definitely going to have to end up scrubbing the floor in the morning when he couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time, and _then_ (although Stan didn't know it right now) he would have to deal with Bill asking about what happened - but for now it was okay. Just a man, Stan the man, and his gross, smelly, rented carpet. 

Stan let out one last deep exhale before drifting off to sleep. 


	2. 2 - Moving On Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to pull up a weed when it would pull up all the grass around it as well.
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Fairly NSFW - some daydreaming & masturbation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY I finished this shit. I've been procrastinating on it for so long, only writing like 20 words a day before all of that guilt came crashing back and I was like "oh my god I said I would finish this weeks ago" and then today I finished it lmao. So the ending might be a little sloppy since I was so eager to get this out and didn't bother with having someone beta it, but I promise I have a lot of good stuff for this series planned. Bear with my funky update habits, though.
> 
> Fingers crossed that I get better at writing smut so y'all don't have to deal with whatever I'm writing now. I'm working on improving my skills I promise :(
> 
> As always, I would appreciate if you followed my Tumblr (@rosepetalrichie).

It's a little (quite a lot) confusing to wake up on your living room floor and have no recollection of how or when you put yourself there, or if it was even your doing.

Having to be awoken by the sun assaulting his face wasn't how Stan would've liked to wake up, but he still let out a long, low groan and threw his forearm over his face as mother nature gave him no mercy. Just slightly adjusting his position sent a wave of sudden nausea through his body, and Stan was sure he was going to throw up right then and there but instead prayed _really_ hard that he wouldn't and curled himself into a ball. It somehow worked, though he still was sort of hating himself at the moment for letting this happen to himself. God, what even was the point of drinking? He knew that Stan-from-last-night would've told him to stop being a baby and appreciate the fun he had at the club that was worth the hangover, but also Stan-from-last-night was a bitchass liar because Stan's night had gone completely downhill thanks to not just his, but _everyone's_ alcohol intake, and now he was laying on his apartment floor in a puddle of his own sweat and agony. Next time he'll just have a fucking juice box, thanks.

Stan laid there for a few more minutes before making an attempt to sit up, and, thank god, it went okay (at least as okay as it could go), because he could feel the deviled eggs from last night crawling up his throat and it was a damn miracle that he made it to the bathroom without blowing chunks everywhere. He plopped himself on the cold tiles and couldn't even be bothered to start wallowing in his thoughts, like he would typically do in a situation like this, because his body just _hurt_ ; his back was stiff, it felt like someone had thrown him off of a building and then ran his body over with a truck, and man, this was one of the moments where Stan wished he had a boyfriend or a roommate or someone to come take care of him and help him feel not so hopeless. Maybe he should've gone home with someone last night - not to fuck, but just so that he wouldn't have to be by himself in the morning. Stan wondered how Eddie and Richie were holding up in the “have to take care of my hungover significant other” department, seeing as they had both been equally as shitfaced the previous night.

Speaking of Eddie, Stan had pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and checked to see if he had any messages. He had one from Ben that was sent last night saying that if Stan needed anything that he could call him; Stan wanted to take up on the offer, and almost did, but didn't want to be _that_ friend who always had to be a hungover inconvenience and required someone come take care of his pathetic ass.

There were also a few messages from Eddie:

 **Eddie** : I hate life rn  
**Eddie** : can I come over please  
**Eddie** : I know you're probably literally dying which is understandable but I think I'm going to have a stroke, seriously

Stan felt a little bad for not replying earlier, as they were sent around 10 in the morning and it was currently noon, but he sent a text replying that it was fine if Eddie wanted to hang out now because Stan figured they both could use the company. Eddie messaged back almost instantly saying that he would be over in around half an hour. Stan took that time to take a shower, peel off the clothes and the gross feeling that were soaked into them off of his body, and wash out the gel in his hair that was now making his curls more frizzy than smooth and well held together.

He had just gotten dressed and sat on the couch when there was a knock at the door. Stan went to open it, but Eddie opened it for himself, quicking walking in and closing it with his heel. His phone between his ear and shoulder, he had two Starbucks coffee cups as well as a little brown bag in his hand, and was talking to whoever was on the other end of the line with an irritated undertone to his voice. Stan silently watched him.

"-no, I'm not lying to you, things are going perfectly smooth, just dandy," Eddie walked into the kitchen and set the cups and bag down, then leaning against the counter. "Seriously, things have honestly been really good for me here. Everyone is super supportive of me and Richie's been great and I have had, like, no stress since I've got here... yes, yes I'm paying rent on time. My job is paying well. I don't know why you’re asking, you know I’m fine with this stuff- wait, shit- sorry, Richie's calling, I'll talk to you later, okay?" He brought his phone down to press a button, flashing an apologetic look to Stan and putting the phone back up to his ear. "Hi, sweetheart." His tone switched immediately. "Yes, I got here fine... okay, well you were alright before I left, and I've just got... a _lot_ on my hands right now so can you just call me back later? ...okay. I’m sorry, I love you. Bye." Eddie tossed his phone down on the counter and heavily sighed, running his hands down his face.

"Everything okay?" Stan questioned.

Eddie dropped his hands, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "Just... everything is being a royal pain in my ass today. Not even today, it's like this whole damn month."

Stan nodded in understanding. "Do you want to sit?" He motioned towards the couch, and took his place next to Eddie when the other sat down. He was about to ask if Eddie wanted to talk about it, but Eddie started before Stan could say anything.

"Usually it's my mom being irritating, obviously, that's normal, but lately it's been- it's been something off with Richie, which isn't normal. And... god, something’s wrong, Stan. Like, I can really feel that something is wrong. And he won’t tell me which _definitely_ is not normal because usually we’re so good with communicating that sort of stuff. I mean sometimes we argue but we always tell each other when something is wrong so we can work it out together, but with this he just won’t - keeps saying there isn't anything, but it's so... so clear that there's something. And I'm not trying to start conflict but he's being an ass whenever I ask, so I don't know what I'm supposed to do at this point." He explained, crossing his arms and pulling his legs up onto the couch.

Stan bit his lip and looked forward, not really knowing what to say. Eddie came to Stan for advice occasionally, but right now it was probably more just to have someone to talk to because Mike and Bev were the advice-givers of the group, which meant they were most likely busy that morning if Eddie had gone to Stan. At the same time, though, Stan and Richie had known each other the longest, so Stan had a good idea of how Richie got when he wasn't in a good emotional place.

"So... how is he acting differently? How do you know something's wrong?" Stan asked.

Eddie shrugged, leaning back into the cushions. "He's been kind of secretive, I guess. Doesn't talk about himself a lot anymore, and we both know how much he likes to do that." He lightly chuckled. "And a lot of the time it's like there isn't that bond between us, I guess. It doesn't feel as strong as it did. Everything is kind of dulling out."

"Well, I don't really know much about relationships, but I hear a lot of couples saying that the 'magic' or something like that starts to wear off after a while, and that it's normal." Stan knew he probably wasn't being helpful, but it felt wrong to not say anything, so he figured he would at least try.

"This feels different though," Eddie responded. He paused for a moment, nervously giggled and ran a hand through his hair. "Not to make things awkward or whatever, but, like... we haven't really been having sex a lot which is- that's one of the things that was so evident that there was something off, because that's something Richie and I usually really enjoy, you know? It's fun and it's intimate and-" He stopped and forced another laugh. "Sorry, you probably don't want to hear about your best friend's sex life or whatever."

Stan shook his head. "No, no, it's fine. I get how that can be something that kinda sucks. And it's not like you're talking about the details of what you guys do, unlike a certain someone we both know." He cracked a smile.

Eddie laughed genuinely this time, giving an agreeing nod. "As much as I hate when Richie does that, that's also sort of one of the signs that I know something's off - he's not as charismatic or lively as much as he typically is." He paused for a moment, and then turned his head to Stan with an expression of deep concern. "Do you think he's depressed?"

"I don't know if I can really say. I haven't seen him very often. You live with him, I don't." Stan explained.

"Yeah, well I just figured you would know how to tell something like that, right? Because, you know..." Eddie waved his hand around, and Stan understood what he was referring to.

"Yeah, I get what you're saying." Stan thought for a second. "The thing is with that sort of stuff, the being depressed thing, is that it's not always apparent. He could be seemingly fine one day, the next he's clearly a little down and melancholic, and the next he's having a full breakdown, I guess. But it's different for everyone."

Eddie was quiet, and looked down to the floor, slowly exhaling. "I don't know." His voice was quiet. "I'm just worried that it's gonna bleed into us being in a relationship and that... things will start to go downhill. With him and I." He chewed on his bottom lip, fidgeting with his sweater sleeve.

Stan put a hand on Eddie's shoulder and gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure things will be okay. Sometimes Richie just needs a little time to sort himself out. And plus you guys always get through your problems anyway, this time won't be any different."

"Yeah." Eddie turned his head back to Stan, returning the smile. "I really appreciate that you let me bitch to you, but I should probably get going; you seem like you've got a lot on your own plate." He stood up and walked back to the kitchen.

"What makes you think that?" Stan asked, leaning against the back of the couch.

Eddie shrugged and took a sip from one of the coffee cups on the counter. "I dunno, it just seems like you usually do."

"Eddie, I've got nothing more planned today than drowning in my own hangover and watching nature documentaries for the next four hours."

"Lame," Eddie joked, grabbing his phone off the counter and digging a scone out of the brown bag. "But it's not like I've got anything more fun planned. The apartment is probably covered in Richie's vomit by now, so I get to go deal with that." He chuckled. "By the way, Richie said he had your usual coffee order saved, which was... oddly surprising that he did, but I got you that," He motioned towards the other cup and the bag, and then paused, spacing out for a moment before looking back over at Stan. "Okay, I really need to get going." He made his way to the door, flashing another smile. "I'll see you later, Stan."

Stan waved to Eddie as he left, and then sighed to himself. He really had enjoyed Eddie's company, and sort of wished he had asked Eddie if he could just stay at his and Richie's place for a while to get out of his head and distract himself, but he knew that Eddie would probably stress over having to worry about an extra person that he had to keep track of. Stan could take care of himself, obviously, but Eddie was very much a pleaser when it came to having guests over and with everything Eddie had to deal with right then, Stan didn't want to add to the pile.

He considered calling Mike to see what he was up to. Mike wasn't really one to take many lazy days, but Stan had stayed with him a few times when he was ridiculously hungover and Mike was like a godsend; he always made amazing breakfast and one time they had sat up in the old tree house on the farm, watching Netflix from Mike's phone for a few hours before passing out on worn down beanbags, wrapped in thick blankets to shield themselves from the early Spring cold.

Stan's finger was hovering the call button on Mike's contact, but a notification popped up on the top of his screen.

 **Bill** : do you wanna hang out for a bit?

When Stan had thought about wanting company, Bill wasn't really the first person who came to mind. It's not like Bill was going to take care of him - not because he didn't want to, but because Bill was definitely very hungover as well, and they would both have to suffer. However, Stan was aware of the fact that Bill was practically the king of those dumbass life hacks, and maybe by some miracle he had found an actually effective way to get rid of this sick feeling.

Stan raised an eyebrow.

 **Me** : Is this some sort of Netflix and chill deal?

 **Bill** : no  
**Bill** : unless you want it to be ;P lol

 **Me** : Please don't make it weird, you asshole. I'll be over in a bit if I don't vomit on the way there and crash my car. Which will be your fault.

 **Bill** : i'll take full responsibility  
**Bill** : but can i have your college savings if you do

Stan just rolled his eyes and quietly giggled to himself. He didn't bother to respond, just set his phone down and walked to his bedroom to change into actual clothes. He often wished he gave less of a shit about his appearance so that he could just go over in his pajamas and not have to worry about it. Stan never really understood how people could pull off that "woke up like this but not really" sort of style - he figured he didn't have enough confidence or fashion sense to wear stuff like that, much less the quirkiness of Richie wearing whatever the hell he wanted. Stan just settled for a zip-up hoodie and one of the very few pairs of jeans that he owned, but didn't worry much about the shoes as he decided to stick his feet back into his slippers instead. It was only Bill, anyway. He didn't need to dress nicely; Bill never really did.

The drive over went smoothly, luckily without any puking or crashing of cars, and Stan was grateful for the fact that Bill's dorm building had an elevator so Stan didn't have to worry about hauling himself up three flights of stairs. He made his way down the hall, knowing well where Bill's dorm was from the many times Bill and Richie would, stoned out of their minds, call Stan and beg him to come over to join their "cuddle puddle". It's kind of hard to comfortably nap with two six-foot-tall men (if you could even call those dickheads anything close to "adults") who smell very strongly of pot on either side of you in a twin-size bed.

Stan lightly knocked and heard a shout from inside telling him to come in. Bill lived in an apartment-style dorm with two other roommates, Xavier and Dominic, so when Stan opened the door he was greeted with those two staring at him from the couches. Stan froze in the doorway and forced an awkward smile and a wave.

"Bill's in his room," one of them told Stan with a mouth full of chips, and Stan muttered a "thanks" and quickly walked down the hallway to the room on the end. He didn't particularly like visiting Bill in his dorm, just because his roommates were always a little weird to Stan whenever he came over, and Stan didn't really know why.

Stan opened Bill's bedroom door to see Bill sitting on his bed, blanket wrapped around him like a poncho with his laptop sitting in front of him. Bill looked up when he heard Stan come in and gave the other a smile.

"Hi," Stan greeted, slowly closing the door behind him and taking a seat on the chair by Bill's desk. He looked around the room, not noticing anything different about it since the last time he had visited other than a new pattern of clutter.

"Hey." Bill closed his laptop and scooted it off to the side, turning to face Stan. He didn't unroll himself from his little blanket hood, which amused Stan greatly for some reason.

There was a little bit of silence that made Stan a bit uneasy, fidgeting with his jacket sleeves and looking anywhere but Bill's face until Bill finally spoke up.

"How are you holding up?" He asked, then clarifying when Stan gave him a confused look, "Like, with the hangover and such."

"Oh, oh, uh," Stan cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, I'm doing alright. Feeling kind of gross, obviously, but... fine." He patted his hands on his knees.

Bill nodded as well. "Cool."

"Cool."

More silence.

"Sorry, I'm probably making things weird." Stan nervously chuckled.

Bill shook his head and Stan could see him shrug from under the blanket. "Nah, I get it. It's been a while. Since we hung out, I mean."

Yeah, but Stan also knew full well what happened last night, even if the memories weren't the most vivid.

Stan idly spun around in the chair a bit, once again looking around the room and waiting for Bill to initiate some sort of conversation that they both could engage in without feeling awkward.

Bill heavily sighed and pushed the duvet off of himself. "Hey, Stan," he began, waiting for the other to turn the chair back to face him. "I'm, uh... sorry if I made things, like, weird last night."

Stan knew it was inevitable that the topic would be brought up, but it didn't lighten the blow.

He just pursed his lips and looked back down to his feet. "It's okay," he lied, acting as though he hadn't been trying to push down the thoughts all morning. "Alcohol is sort of a bitch." He forced a laugh, and Bill did the same. "Things can just go back to normal. Whatever."

But things wouldn't go back to "normal". There would still be that tension that, although was settled for all of five minutes during their makeout session in the bathroom, was just created again when Stan had fled from the scene and was now trying to play it off as though it wasn't bothering him immensely. What Stan wanted "normal" to be was for him and Bill to be regular friends like they had been before junior year, with no confusing staring, none of this bullshit tension that was thick enough to cut with a knife; just them acting like the rest of their friends did around each other. That was the ideal "normal", what most people would consider normal to be in their own situation. But when things were to go back to "normal" with Stan and Bill, there would still be the looming spirit of words unsaid and the pressure to spit them out and finally, fucking finally confess everything that had built up for so many years.

And while the former was much more preferable, the latter was better than getting any further deep into his feelings, Stan supposed.

"That's chill, I guess," Bill simply responded. "So-"

"We just don't talk about it." Stan was quick to cut off any further discussion. "Like I said, things will just go back to normal." He occupied himself with picking at a cuticle and he saw Bill nod out of the corner of his eye. Was Stan making things even weirder? He didn't really think so, and sure hoped not, but he was willing to sacrifice a little bit of his dignity for a couple of minutes if it meant last night wouldn't be brought up again.

There was a minute of silence before Bill cleared his throat. "Uh, do you want to, like... watch a movie or something?" He asked quietly.

Stan looked up from his hands to Bill and softly sighed with a smile. "Yeah. Sure."

_Normal._

-

They were halfway into the second Lord of the Rings movie after finishing the first one before Stan had declared that he was bored (the movies weren't his choice) and scooted off the bed to find something else to entertain himself with.

"They're not bad movies, I don't know why you're complaining." Bill paused the movie, and sat up on the bed, watching as Stan started to move things around on his desk.

"I didn't say they were bad movies," Stan replied, putting a pile of loose pencils back in their holder. "It's just hard to sit there and watch Elijah Wood be a dumbass for three hours with you shushing me every time I try to talk."

"It's not Elijah, that's the actor. His name is Frodo and he's a very well developed, dynamic character and he has an interesting storyline."

"He's a shithead and he treats that Sam guy badly. And I don't like his dad, either."

"Bilbo is his uncle."

"He's a father figure of some sort. Same thing."

Bill just groaned, flopping back down on the bed and sticking his legs up to rest them against the wall. "You are literally the most boring, uninteresting friend I've ever had."

Stan straightened out a stack of papers and started to dig through the couple of binders that were on the floor. "Just because I don't want to watch your geek shit doesn't mean I'm uninteresting. I take a lot of offense to that, actually." He rebutted, shoving the papers into a random binder. "I think we should do something I want to do, for a change."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Bill sighed, wiggling his feet around.

"I don't know. Not watch your geek shit."

"What about Harry Potter?"

"Thin ice. But better."

Bill laughed. "You are so damn difficult to please."

"I'm actually not, it's just that you don't want to make me happy and don't care about my wellbeing. I understand. It's fine, you hate me. Whatever." Stan was trying not to smile and was grateful Bill couldn't see his face.

"Yeah, yeah, throw your pity party." Bill rolled off the bed and went to stand over Stan, who was crouched on the floor and digging stuff out from underneath Bill's desk. "You're messing up my stuff."

"I'm organizing it."

"I won't know where anything is." He kicked an empty plastic water bottle at Stan's leg, and Stan picked it up and threw it back at him.

"It's better than all your shit being on your floor." Stan stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans, looking back up to Bill. "When's the last time you actually fully cleaned your room?"

Bill crossed his arms and shrugged. Stan huffed and looked around the floor again, then up to the walls. "I'm genuinely surprised none of your picture frames are broken with how clumsy you are," Stan said, and Bill gave a loud bout of laughter. Stan's eyes gazed over the various photographs and his face lit up when he saw a particular one; the picture was one of Bill's school pictures, and the text on the bottom corner read _William Denbrough, 7th Grade._

"This is so old," Stan said with an excited voice and a wide grin, picking the frame up off the shelf to get a closer look. "God, look at those round little cheeks, and holy fuck, your teeth." Stan broke out into giggles.

Bill snatched the picture out of Stan's hands and put it back on the shelf, and started looking at the other pictures. "Laugh all you want, Stanley, but once I got my braces off I had all the girls in the school swooning over me." Stan just rolled his eyes.

"Also, I'm almost positive I have a picture somewhere of you with your middle school acne."

Stan let out an incredibly loud offended gasp and grabbed onto Bill's arm, shaking it. "Why the fuck would you have that?! I thought we agreed to get rid of the evidence, you shit stain!" Bill ignored him and started eyeing each of the photos.

"Biiilll, pleeease don't do this to meeeee, why do you insist on ruining my liiiife." Stan planted his face into Bill's shoulder, letting out various groans and complaints while Bill stifled his laughter and carefully looked at each frame.

"Oh, here's one-"

"NOOOOOOOO."

"Look, Stan. It's not that bad."

"FUCK OFF."

"We were all equally as gross, it's okay."

"I was so ugly."

Bill heavily sighed, setting the picture back down on the desk and wrapping his arms around Stan's shoulders. "You weren't ugly."

"I was disgusting." Stan's arms hung limply at his sides as he pretended he was still mad.

"You were adorable."

"Please don't lie to me. You're not making me feel any better."

Bill shifted his weight on his feet, swaying him and Stan and resting his chin on the top of the shorter boy's head. "We were all cute kids, Stanley."

"Nuh-uh."

"...Okay, you know what? You’re right. We were all cute kids but excluding Richie."

That got Stan to giggle a bit, and his arms slowly snaked around Bill's waist. "That's rude."

Bill shrugged. "I'm allowed to say that because he's hot now."

"Fair enough." Stan tightened his arms around Bill and he slowly exhaled while Bill continued to rock them from side to side, just enjoying the peacefulness of the moment, the only sound being the TV faintly playing in the living room.

_Normal._

There was a bit of time that passed before Stan looked back up to Bill. "Speaking of Richie, um- have you noticed anything... off about him?" He asked.

Bill slowly shook his head. "No. Why?"

"Eddie came over earlier and he told me that Richie's been acting odd. Said he's been secretive and just... weird." Stan brought up a hand to fidget with one of the drawstrings on Bill's hoodie.

"Hmm. I haven't seen him a lot lately, so I dunno."

"Yeah, I said that, too."

Bill nodded in response and they were silent again.

"...Dammit, Stan, you made things all heavy and shit."

Stan scoffed and furrowed his eyebrows at Bill. "I didn't mean to! I was just asking a question."

"It totally ruined the moment." Bill didn't look back at him.

Stan stuck out his bottom lip and gave a whine.

Bill sighed. "You know what I could do that would fix it?"

"What?"

There was a pause, Bill looking blankly over Stan's head before his fingers shot to Stan's sides. " _This!_ "

Stan let out a high pitched scream, immediately yanking his arms away from Bill and trying to shove him away, stifling his raucous laughter and putting on his most angry facade. "Bill! Stop!" Except Bill didn't listen, only crossed his arms around Stan's waist and pulled both of them down onto the bed. He had Stan wrapped in his arms and managed to get Stan's legs to stop flailing by trapping them under his own, all while continuing to wiggle his hands along Stan's stomach and ignoring Stan's squeals and protests.

"Admit you were a cute child and I'll stop!" Bill taunted, though he was highly amused by Stan's reaction.

"Stop it, Bill!"

"Say ittttt!"

" _Okay-!_ " Stan took in a deep inhale and dropped his head to the side. "You're right, you’re right, now get your damn hands off me!"

Before Bill could obey, the bedroom door was opened and Bill's roommate (Stan recognized him as the one who was named Xavier) stood in the door frame.

Stan promptly rolled off of Bill and sat up, looking anywhere but Xavier's direction, and Bill cleared his throat and propped himself up on his elbow.

"Can I help you?" Bill asked with an irritated tone to his voice.

Xavier had a confused expression, obviously, and his hand was clenching the doorknob. "I was gonna ask what we were getting for dinner. We're getting hungry."

Bill rolled his eyes. "I already said that's up to you and Dominic."

Xavier took one last look at the both of them, then curtly nodded and quickly closed the door.

Bill turned his head to look over at Stan, who was wringing his hands and had a face that was flushed bright red. "Sorry about that," Bill said. "I swear to fucking god he's got no memory whatsoever."

Stan pursed his lips and looked up, eyeing the room for a clock. "What time is it?"

Bill dug his phone from his pocket. "5-ish."

"Okay." Stan maneuvered around Bill, standing up. "I should probably get going and let you guys eat."

"You can stay for dinner if you want," Bill replied, and Stan could hear the frown in his voice.

Stan shook his head, slightly smiling despite how bad he felt. "No, it's fine, I'm just gonna go. I had a lot of fun, though."

Bill returned the smile. "Thanks for coming over, I guess," he said.

Stan nodded and left Bill's room, swiftly walking down the hall. All Stan wanted to do was just leave without any further issues, go back home to his nature documentaries, chill out for a little while-

"Hey, Stan, wait."

He froze at the door, pausing before slowly turning his head. Xavier and Dominic were on the couch (five feet apart because they're not gay - very much the opposite) and both staring at Stan.

"What?"

Xavier pointed his fork at Stan. "Are you and Bill sleeping together?"

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

"I'm not judging if you are, I just wanna know so that I can avoid being here to hear it."

Stan looked at him blankly.

"Does Bill bottom?" Dominic spoke up, and earned a snicker from Xavier.

Stan rolled his eyes and got the fuck out without bothering to respond, loudly slamming the door behind him.

_Straight people._

* * *

The drive back home was just about as smooth and okay as the drive to the dorm - no car crashing or vomiting, but there were a lot more thoughts bubbling up in Stan's head this time, his fingers tightly clenching and releasing the wheel to get rid of the tension that was building up in his body from how irritated he was. He knew he didn't like Bill's roommates because they were always weird, but he didn't realize they had the power to piss him off this much, much less over something as simple as two dumb questions from two dumb straight boys who probably didn't even realize Bill was actually not straight and wasn't just going to guys for random blowjobs. No one (not even the losers) knew how Bill labelled himself - or if he even bothered to - because Bill hadn't explicitly come out to anyone, but at least Stan knew that Bill liked guys in more than a sexual way. He'd figure that Bill's roommates would get to actually know Bill, but from the few times Stan had interacted with them, it seemed like they couldn't give less of a shit about Bill. That made Stan dislike them even more.

He stormed up the stairs to his apartment, fumbling with his keys and swearing multiple times as he attempted to find the one for the front door, and even when he eventually got the door open, it didn't fix how angry he was. He dumped his keys and jacket on the floor, walked off a couple of steps, and went back to the hang them both up on the rack.

_Calm yourself down. They just wanted to know if you and Bill were sleeping together. It was a small question and there’s no reason to get worked up over it._

But who the hell gave them permission to ask? Stan got even more pissy because it definitely was not their place to go about asking some innocent friend of Bill's if they were sleeping together, because not every gay person is fucking their gay friends!

Stan walked into the kitchen and dug out a random box of pasta to occupy himself before he started getting too antsy, filling the pot with water and dumping the noodles in. He could just make some macaroni, sit down on the couch, continue about his night's plans, and just let the situation fall off his shoulders while David Attenborough's voice lulled him to sleep and another day of dealing with Bill and the bittersweet issue of being his friend would pass and Stan would get a small grace period before things started to get upsetting again.

Stan stood there, wooden spoon in hand, and watched as the bubbles began to rise.

And along with them, his temper.

It was _bullshit!_ This whole thing was bullshit, and Stan was getting angry with everyone in the mix now. He was angry at Xavier and Dominic for being douchebags, he was angry at Bill for inviting him in the first place and knowing that those two fucks would be at the dorm (Stan had never really explained to Bill that his roommates made him uncomfortable, but that was beside the point), and Stan was angry at himself for accepting Bill's invite and not just clearing Bill's notification and calling Mike instead. Mike didn't have any dumbass roommates. All he had were the sheep and the sheep never asked Stan if he was getting Mike's dick up his ass! Sheep are so much better than people, what the fuck!

He continued to rapidly stir the noodles, staring at the wall in front of him.

And what even made Xavier and Dominic think of asking (besides straight people thinking all gay people are fucking one another)? Did they ask that question to every guy who came over to hang out with Bill? Definitely not all of the guys Bill invited over were gay, there had to be some straight people, right? And Stan never really he thought he came off as obviously gay - he wasn't the stereotypical homosexual man with a vocal fry and a flamboyant personality, and him being well put together shouldn't make people think he wasn't straight. Stan was just a thin, Jewish mommy's boy who just so happened to have his shit in order, and that did not make him gay. Even though he... _is_ gay, but none of the above counted towards that.

He started listing through other reasons. Did one of the other losers joke about it in front of Xavier and Dominic and they had taken it seriously? Was there another instance where Stan and Bill had drunkenly kissed at a party or something and they had seen? And of course their dorm rooms were all right next to each other, it wasn't a very big dorm, maybe Bill had just, _I don't know,_ moaned out Stan's name on accident-

Stan stopped stirring. He had just meant to entertain the thought, just meant to come up with it jokingly, because surely it wasn't something that could be a possibility or whatever because Bill Denbrough had plenty of other guys and girls to think about when his hand was wrapped around his dick at 2 AM. There wasn't any reason he would need to think about Stan.

The thought was a joke. It was a fucking _joke,_ Stanley.

He continued stirring, taking a slow deep breath.

Okay, other than the reasons he had gone through previously, Stan decided to settle on the fact that Xavier had nothing to base his question off of other than his own stupidity.

And, plus, even if Bill and Stan _were_ having sex, it's not like they would bring it back to Bill's dorm. It was too risky with roommates, obviously it would have to be at Stan's apartment, so Xavier and Dominic would never even know. Even if Bill was gone for the night, he could be with some other person. It didn't have to be Stan.

Stan was always a little wary of hooking up in his apartment. He didn't know how thin the walls were (luckily he didn't have any loud neighbors) so they couldn't, like, you know, moan super loudly or shake the bed or whatever and Stan wanted to be courteous of the people in the rooms next to him. It was as risky of move as doing it in Bill's dorm.

But Stan had always sort of liked a challenge.

_There were hands gripping underneath the backs of Stan's knees, rough and calloused fingers against soft, pale skin, and Stan's thighs were pushed into his chest. Another set of hips rocked against his own in an almost agonizingly slow motion, and Stan felt his chest collapse as he shuddered out a breath._

_He looked up to a face that held an expression of exertion, and his hand moved to cup Bill's cheek._

_"I don't want it slow," Stan whispered to him. He didn't get a response, only only another slow thrust into him, deep enough this time to pull out a quiet whine. Bill's hand trailed up to Stan's mouth and he rested his thumb on Stan's bottom lip._

_"We have to be quiet, baby." Bill's voice was barely loud enough to hear over Stan's panting breath. His chapped lips connected to Stan's neck, lightly sucking, and Stan was usually so hesitant with hickies because they'd be visible to everyone the next day, but, god, what was happening was enough to throw those worries out the window._

_Bill continued to work himself into Stan, a little faster now but still much slower than Stan would've liked. It seemed as though Bill was being more precise with his motions this time; he smoothly rolled his hips to Stan's, pulling in Stan by his waist and making sure their skin met. It was as if Bill was purposely trying to torture him, with movements that were good, but weren't nearly satisfying enough._

_Stan was trying to be quiet, though he wasn't even sure why they had to be. He figured Bill had control of him right now considering how much Stan's mental coherency was starting to fall apart, and that was okay - being submissive for him definitely wasn't bad, it was an amazing thought, actually - but right now Stan wanted nothing more than to flip the two of them over and ride Bill until Stan got what he needed, being able to throw his head back and let out the dirtiest sounds he could, feeling Bill's toned stomach under his hands, feeling it start to move as he reached his climax and guided Stan through his own-_

The smoke alarm went off.

“ _Shit!_ Fuck-!” Stan turned off the stove and moved the pot off the burner, running over to the kitchen window, then opening it up and waving the smoke outside with a dish towel, but the alarm continued to scold him. “Shut the fuck up!” Stan yelled at the very inanimate object, then reaching up and hitting it with the towel until it finally turned off, and Stan let out a heavy sigh while he planted his hands against the counter, taking a moment to recollect himself.

So much for a chill night in with pasta.

Stan rubbed at his forehead. Yeah, the little bit in his head about Bill moaning Stan's name while he was getting off was definitely a joke, but playing out a very vivid daydream of Bill fucking him? What kind of joke would that be? The only joke was Stan at this point, with how pathetic he felt for being so desperate and childish that his thoughts had just somehow wandered to something like… that.

He took some time to clean out the pot, discarding the noodles and deciding that he wasn't all that hungry anyway.

The next plan was to take a small nap and hope that he would feel somewhat better when he woke up. His head was just a little fuzzy, that's all. He wasn't thinking straight. He just changed into a pair of pajamas and settled himself under the covers, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into the mattress.

But it was worse when he laid down. Everything came back with no warning, and Stan tried so hard to just think of something else, literally anything else. He flopped around the bed as he changed positions, looking for a way to lay down that felt comfortable and didn't make all the tension in his body feel like agonizing pain before turning over on his stomach and putting his pillow over his head because he just thought it would make things better if he tried to hide himself. It didn't - only made him feel more ashamed, made him clench his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut until he felt like he was going to burst out in full sobs from how frustrated and tense he was. And this was one of the moments where Stan absolutely despised having a dick, feeling himself stiffen against his pants and completely betraying what he was mentally screaming.

"God dammit," he grumbled to himself, throwing the pillow off of the bed and rubbing his face while he turned onto his back. Why couldn't Bill just go be hot somewhere else? It was bullshit. It wasn't fair to Stan. It wasn't fair to put Stan in this situation - getting a hard-on for his best friend who he obviously didn't even like that much, especially not in a sexual way, even if everything he'd been thinking about said otherwise.

He figured he could just... think of someone else. Think of Mike! Mike was attractive and Stan liked him a lot and would totally date him, and it's not wrong to masturbate to the thought of the boy he actually liked, and wouldn't mind sleeping with, unlike the other boy, right? No. Of course not.

And so Stan's hand slowly slinked down to his crotch, and he let out a shaky breath as his palm rested over his zipper. He knew this wasn't about Mike. He knew he was about to jack off to some stupid immature daydream about Bill and he was going to feel like shit over it afterwards, but it's not like he could do nothing about it. He would regret that, too, just as much as the former.

After another minute of weighing out his options, Stan buried his face in the crook of his elbow while he quickly unzipped his pants and went to work.

There was no going back now.

_Stan had his back pressed to Bill's chest, sitting on his lap though Bill still wore pants and Stan had nothing save for his shirt. Bill's hands were wandering all over him, slipping under his sweater, moving down to his thighs, giving Stan these teasing touches, Stan desperately whining Bill's name and breathing out various pleads._

_Bill's hand went to his dick without warning. Stan's head fell back onto Bill's shoulder and his hands flew out and gripped the sheets, while slender fingers slowly stroked him, finally giving him what he had been begging for. Bill didn't bother working up to the full thing seeing as Stan was more than aroused, squirming underneath Bill's touch and letting out moans that continued to get louder as Bill's movements became quicker._

_Bill turned his head and pressed soft kisses to Stan's cheek. "You look so pretty like this; so desperate for me to touch you and falling apart once I do," he murmured, and he suddenly slowed down. "Are you gonna be patient?"_

_Stan's hips bucked up into Bill's hand, eager for what he had done previously, but Bill planted his free hand on Stan's hipbone and pushed him back down towards Bill's lap. "Are you?"_

_"Fuck- yes, yes I'll be patient," Stan whimpered. He settled for pressing himself down onto the bulge in Bill's pants and lightly grinding on him, savoring the low groan that came from Bill, who only slowed down even further, just resting his hand on the tip of Stan's cock and giving him barely satisfactory touches. This frustrated Stan even more and prompted him to press himself down onto Bill's dick again, harder this time._

_"You seem a little too needy for saying that you'll patient." Bill gave a low chuckle and began to bite at Stan's neck._

_Stan disregarded Bill's question, lifting and turned his head to the side to meet Bill's eyes. "Take your pants off. Please."_

_Bill was quick to obey, and after some maneuvering of their bodies, they were both fully undressed, Stan still in Bill's lap but facing him this time. Their lips met forcefully with Stan holding Bill's jaw and Bill's fingers dancing over his body once again until there were both of their dicks in his hand, Bill now stroking them both, quicker than the slow motions he had given Stan before. They were basically just moaning into each other's mouths at that point, barely being able to get any actual kissing in there with how hard they were breathing._

_"Bill..." Stan managed to get out, opening his eyes and pressing his forehead to Bill's. He knew that Bill had said something in response, but Stan's climax had hit him so suddenly and strongly that he couldn't make out the words or ask what Bill had said, and only let out a couple more final noises before dropping his head into the crook of Bill's neck._

_"You're so fucking good for me."_

Stan stared up at the ceiling, breathing heavily with cum dripping down onto his fingers and guilt flooding his body.

He didn't want to be _fucking good_ for Bill.


End file.
